


Rebirth

by Moonsp1r1t



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Gen, Molly's days with the circus, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Self-Harm, Speculation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-08-01 06:59:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16279856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsp1r1t/pseuds/Moonsp1r1t
Summary: His legs were shaking like a newborn foal’s, buckling slightly but he managed to stay standing, although he probably looked as if a hard enough breeze could knock him over. He looks up towards the moons, closing his eyes, winding his dirt-caked fingers into his short cropped hair. A strange, rusty sound bubbled up from the back of his throat, hoarse and foreign.Laughter.-----Molly's early days with the circus.





	1. Empty

_Panic._

He couldn’t breath. He felt as if there was a crushing weight above him, pressing downward. He shifted, trying to cough and splutter to remove whatever it was that was on top of him from his nose and mouth but he _couldn’t_. He found it difficult to try to move; he couldn’t move his legs at all and he could only move his arms a minuscule amount.

He tried to remain calm, but his thoughts were scrambled and incoherent, although whether this was due to panic he did not know. _Empty. Book. Witch. Empty. Escape. Tomb. Empty._

After several minutes- or possible hours- of wriggling and squirming, he managed to get his right arm loose enough to push it upwards. The material covering him is… odd. Soft and thin. _Dirt,_ his mind provides. _Soil._

He did not understand. His thoughts were still wild and fragmented and the lack of air was starting to get to him.

He reached his hand as far as he could upwards. He felt like he was close to something, but he couldn’t quite _reach…_ He squirmed and reached as far as he could… the pressure in his head from the inability to breath was building.

His fingers broke through the surface and the cool night air bit at his skin. His movements were clumsy, like he had gotten out of practice of using his own limbs, but he dug his fingers into the dirt, clawing and digging until he could work his other arm free. From there it was much easier. He pushed himself upwards, so that he could sit up, although his legs were still underground.

_Air. Breathe. Empty._

He coughed and spluttered, his lungs burning as he sucked in great gulps of air. Trembling hands went to his throat, his chest heaving, a deep set ache in his lungs. He closed his eyes until he could breathe properly, an odd empty sort of feeling in his chest. He rocked back and forth slightly, swaying in the cool breeze.

The first thing he saw when opening his eyes were the moons. They were full and shining, bathing him and the surrounding area in silver light. It was difficult to tell because his thoughts were still scrambled and everything seemed oddly… bright, but he seemed to be in a forest clearing. There was grass all around him and a darkened tree line beyond that.

In the immediate vicinity surrounding him was more dirt, mud, and grass. It was in an oddly rectangular shape and there was a single, round stone nearby where his head had been. He stared at the stone for a few minutes, uncomprehending, his thoughts still jumbled nonsensically.

_Dead. Blood. Empty. Tomb. Book. Empty. Witch. Tricked. Empty. Gone. Lost. Empty._

He turned away from the stone and began to try to work his legs free from the ground. He found that his limbs were incredibly stiff, aching as he moved them, which he ignored. He pulled himself completely free and stayed on his hands and knees, trying to _remember_... The memories were fragile and elusive, and it was as if he was trying to grab at smoke with his bare hands. He searched through his mind, trying to understand _why_ but there was nothing. The effort sent waves of pain through his skull.

After taking a moment or so to collect himself, he pushed himself into a standing position. His legs were shaking like a newborn foal’s, buckling slightly but he managed to stay standing, although he probably looked as if a hard enough breeze could knock him over. He looks up towards the moons, closing his eyes, winding his dirt-caked fingers into his short cropped hair. A strange, rusty sound bubbled up from the back of his throat, hoarse and foreign.

_Laughter._

It wasn’t a pleasant noise. It was rough and scratchy, like he hadn’t laughed in a very long time. It was also hysterical, verging on madness, echoing around the clearing. He could not explain why he was laughing so hard, or even why he felt so scared. He fell to his knees again, his fingers still curled into his hair, shoulders trembling. He felt like he needed to _run._ He wanted to get to his feet and bolt in a random direction, fleeing. However, he also felt frozen in place.

He curled into himself tighter. Something tickled at his cheek and he swatted it away without thinking about it before realizing it was his own tear. The dampness on his wrist looked absurd. He was crying? He didn’t understand. Why would he be crying?

Tears began to flow freely down his cheeks, and he did not know what to do with them. He couldn’t stop laughing either.

Confusion clouded his thoughts even further. He didn’t understand where he was. He didn’t understand why he had been underground. He didn’t understand why he was laughing. He didn’t understand why he was crying. He also did not understand who he was in the first place.

He tried to search his memory, his feelings, but he could remember _nothing_. Nothing, that is, except for waking up in the ground just moments ago. He supposes vaguely that that should probably worry him more than it did.

As his laughter died off, he fell off to the side of the hole, laying on his back. He stared up at the moons and stars.

_Night. Free. Empty. Gone. Takers. Empty. Forgot. Cold. Empty. Behind. Left. Empty. Forgotten. Cold._

At the last thought, he wrapped his arms around himself, wishing that he had something a little bit warmer than… He looked down to see that he was wearing a thin shirt and a loose pair of pants. Their color was dull, even underneath the dirt and grime.

Something else caught his attention. He lifted his right hand over his face, looking at the back where he could see what looked like a red eye.

_What? Eye? Empty. Why? More? Empty._

He sat up, staring at the eye, but his mind provided no answers. He flipped his hand over on the other side to see that there was an identical eye on the palm. He wondered vaguely if there were more.

Another gust of wind blew threw and he shivered. The nearby trees creaked and groaned, their branches rustling. He drew his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around himself and placing his hands on his shoulders in a poor attempt to keep warm. He wrapped his tail around his ankles.

_Alone. Gone. Empty. Where? Return? Empty._

He got the distinct feeling that there should have been people there with him. He had been left behind for some reason by… someone. He didn’t know who. Whomever they were, though, would eventually realize he wasn’t there and would come back for him, right? Hopefully it would be soon… He didn’t want to be alone. The thought caused a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach.

_Return. Please. Empty. Alone. Scared. Empty._

He rested his chin on his knees, waiting. Very slowly, the moons crept across the sky, the stars fading as the sky lightened. The sun began to peek over the treetops surrounding him, making him slightly warmer. He still did not move. He was certain that someone would come for him. He didn’t know who, exactly, he was waiting for, but he knew that they wouldn’t just… _leave_ him, would they?

By the time the sun started going down again, he wasn’t so sure. Still, he waited, his fragmented thoughts trying to sort themselves out and figure out what was going on. He figured that if whomever he was waiting for would be able to _explain_ who he was and what happened. He just didn’t _understand_.

He must have fallen asleep at one point or another because the next thing he knew the sun was rising again. It wasn’t until around midday, however, that he accepted that whoever he was waiting for was not going to come.

Disappointment gnawed at the pit of his stomach. His eyes squeezed shut for a moment, his arms clutching at the fabric covering his shoulders. He was so _sure_ someone was going to come for him.

Even in his state of confusion he knew he couldn’t stay there. He needed to find… _someone_. Something had clearly gone very wrong in his life and he needed help. From anyone. Maybe then they could assist him in figuring out what happened, specifically why he was in the ground.

His limbs were stiff when he got to his feet again, but at least they weren’t as shaky as they had been before. He chose a random direction towards the woods and began to walk, leaving the hole behind.

The forest itself was flourishing. Most of the trees seemed to be evergreen trees, although those that weren’t had leaves of gold and red. Any creatures that lived in the forest seemed to be giving him a wide berth. The air was alive with a cacophony of bird song and the clicking of insects. Everything still seemed too bright to him, though. It almost didn’t look real to him.

_Alone. Walk. Empty. Forest. Escape. Empty. People. Find. Empty. Lonely. Unsafe. Empty. Help. Lost. Empty. Scared. Please. Empty._

The trees started to thin after an hour or so. He kept walking, despite his aching feet, until he reached an open field, although he could see a road of some sort a fair distance away from him. He was so exhausted he wanted to collapse right then and there, but he still saw no one. He cried out in frustration and kept going.

His shadow lengthened and the light turned gold as the sun began to dip below the horizon. He had had a headache since he woke up the previous day, although now his head was starting to spin. His mouth was uncomfortably dry. His footfalls started to weave and his vision blurred. In addition to the emptiness in his chest, there was an awful, gnawing hollow feeling at the pit of his stomach.

These aches were manageable for a while- at the very least he was able to ignore them for a while as he made his way closer to the road. He didn’t know where the road lead, of course, but somewhere in the back of his mind he recognized that the road would eventually take him towards people. People may be able to help him.

He was not too far from the road when a wave of vertigo crashed over him. He lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. He rolled over onto his back with a groan, staring up at the sky before his vision went dark.


	2. Rois

He was laying down on something soft. Blankets were heaped on top of him and, although his mind was still groggy, he was able to experience a little more clarity of thought than he had before, at the very least enough to recognize that someone was singing. The song described some sort of seabird, crying as it flew over the ocean.

_Where am I?_

He groaned and brought his hands up to rub at his eyes. The singing abruptly stopped and he heard the sound of footsteps; something warm was thrust into his hands.

“You should be more careful,” says a voice. He _thinks_ it’s feminine. “You almost died. Drink that up and we can have a chat.”

He blinked several times, forcing himself to focus on the cup in his hands. Steam rose from it gently. He shifted back- now recognizing that he was on a bed with a multitude of pillows- so that he could sit up properly. He took a hesitant sip of the mixture, smiling as it warmed him up considerably, before looking over at the person who had handed it to him.

She was very short. Her curly hair had gone white with age and her wrinkly face was grinning at him. Pointed ears poked out from her curls, her bare feet were hairy, and she was wearing strange purple and orange robes that seemed almost too big for her. Her skin was a soft brown that made him frown; he looked at his own hands clasped around the cup to find them a soft purple.

“We found you near the side of the road,” said the old woman. “Well, Toya found you; she came running back to the rest of us, screaming bloody murder, claiming she found a dead body.”

He blinked at her slowly, not understanding. He had collapsed, yes, but he didn’t know who Toya was. Or even who the “us” the old woman was referring to.

“Oh, Moonweaver, that reminds me,” says the old woman, smacking herself on the forehead. “I’ll be right back; I need to go get Gustav.”

Without another word, she rushed from the area, leaving him alone. He looked after her, bemused. He took another sip of the tea and realized with a pang that he didn’t want her to leave.

_Don’t leave me alone._

He looked around at his surroundings. He seemed to be in a room of some sort, although the walls were made of cloth.There were lots of other pieces of cloth draped all over the place, for aesthetic reasons if he had to guess, although it looked haphazard in some places so perhaps it was just because it was put together hastily. There was a table not too far away with some sort of glass ball on it and cards spread out across the surface. Not too far away was a chair with even more cloth on it; it looked to him as if that was where the old woman had been sitting, working on her embroidery while she was waiting for him to wake up.

The old woman returned a moment later, closely followed by a man. The man was much taller than she, with lanky limbs and pointed ears. His ashy brown hair tumbled down past his shoulders towards his mid back, where it pooled. He was wearing a long green coat and a floppy top hat to match.

“You’re awake,” said the man, pleased. “You gave us all a fright.”

He blinked at the man slowly.

“What’s your name?” the man prompted. “My name is Gustav Fletching.”

It took him a few moments to find his voice. He tried to tell the man in the funny clothes that he didn’t know, but all that came out of his mouth was, “Empty.” His voice was hoarse and scratchy from disuse.

“M.T?” Gustav asked.

“Empty,” he said again.

The old woman approached to check his cup. “You still have some tea in there, love,” she told him quietly.

“Okay, M.T. Can you tell me why you were on the side of the road like that? You were pretty dehydrated,” said Gustav. “Were you traveling somewhere? Do you have people looking for you?”

“Empty.”

Gustav frowned and looked at the old woman, who shrugged. The man approached him and knelt by his bedside. “Look, son, I want to help you, but I _can’t_ if you don’t give me anything to go on.”

“Empty.”

Gustav shook his head in disbelief and looked at the old woman in disbelief. She said, “Can you understand us? Do you know Common?”

He nodded, fidgeting with the cup in his hands.

“Good. Can you say _anything_ other than empty?” the old woman asked.

He looked at them blankly and said, “Empty.” He could understand their words just fine, although, while his mind seemed to be clearer than it had been the previous day, he still couldn’t… make his mouth respond to the questions he wanted to ask. He also felt like the word itself, _empty_ , was important somehow.

“Do you… think he’s mad?” Gustav asked gruffy.

He looked at Gustav sharply, who put his hands up in a defensive posture.

“I don’t think he’s well,” said the old woman. “We should… Not to tell you what to do, Gustav, but I’m willing to allow him to stay with me until he’s better. And then he can decide for himself what to do. I’m sure my granddaughters wouldn’t mind.”

Gustav scratched his chin thoughtfully. “I can ask Mona and Yuli if they would be willing to stay with Orna, I suppose. I’ll have to ask Desmond if he thinks we have the food to spare…”

He blinked at them slowly, having lost track of what they were talking about. He took another sip of the tea, gagging slightly when some of the leaves got into his mouth. He coughed and the old woman looked at him in concern.

“We’ll have to discuss it,” concluded Gustav. “Just keep him out of trouble, okay?”

He grinned at the both of them without really knowing why. The old woman looked deeply amused and reached over to pat his hand.

———

The first week he spent with the odd little group learning who everyone was.

The man from before, Gustav, was a half elf. It was Gustav had started referring to him as M.T. That wasn’t what he had meant when he was asked for his name, but he seemed to think it fit, in a way. Gustav, along with Desmond Moondrop, ran a traveling carnival. 

Desmond was a human. He seemed rather quiet and meek, although once or twice M.T. caught him practicing playing his fiddle by himself; when he was playing for the group around the campfire, he always seemed bright and excited and happy, but when practicing by himself his music always seemed more quiet and mournful.

Bosun seemed very friendly. M.T. was very fond of his hair; he had a well-groomed mustache that curved out to the sides. M.T. wanted to ask how he did his hair, but he couldn’t find the words. Besides, M.T.’s hair was short, cropped close to his scalp; there wasn’t much he would be able to do with it even if he could ask.

Orna, however, was able to do interesting things with her hair, even though it was short, although it was still longer than M.T.’s hair. Her hair was a short, fiery red and she had dark skin. Her hair always seemed to draw M.T,’s eyes whenever she walked by. She also had a sense of humor, which M.T. appreciated, but it was more of a swift “blink and you miss it” kind of dry humor.

The youngest member of their little group, other than M.T., was a little dwarven girl named Toya. She, according to Gustav, was the one that found him when he collapsed. Her speaking voice was scratchy and damaged, but when she sang- which was what she did whenever she noticed that M.T. was on the verge of a breakdown… there was undeniably something magical about her voice. Toya was always in the company of an enormous creature with green scaled slimy looking skin named Kylre.

There was also two halfling girls named Mona and Yuli. They were identical twins that didn’t like to talk much; they mostly just liked to talk to each other and would blink at M.T. owlishly with suspicion in their eyes. Mona and Yuli were the granddaughters of the fortune teller, Rois.

Rois spoke to to M.T. a lot in his early days. She would get him to drink, she would get him to eat, she would try to get him to talk. She sang with some frequency, usually that song about the seabirds, but she tried to sing when she was did not know that M.T. was listening. While her voice was not as enchanting as Toya’s, M.T. quite enjoyed her singing regardless.

In the coming months, when looking back, his earliest memories would seem vague or indistinct. He would remember with some clarity, however, the day Rois had found him playing with her cards.

M.T. had known that Rois had some arcane talent- after all, her tent seemed to take almost no time at all to set up when they were on the road and it contained things that certainly should not be able to be in there when she folds it up and stuffs it in the back of one of their carts at the end of the evening. The cards, however, were special; Rois had assured M.T. that the cards themselves had no magical properties whatsoever.

M.T., left in Rois’s tent alone, had seen the cards spread across the surface. M.T. approached the table curiously, picking up a card at random and peering at it; while he couldn’t read the words on the card, the picture depicted a moon shining over a pool of water. There was something coming out of the water, some sort of lobster-like creature, while two dogs howled.

“See something that interested you?”

M.T. nearly jumped out of his skin. He dropped the card and whipped around, falling into a defensive fighting stance reflexively, to see the ancient halfling woman looking at him with a wry smile.

Rois approached the table and was able to locate the card he had been holding with little effort, as it was the only card that was facing up.

“The Moon,” she said.

M.T. looked at her in confusion, cocking his head to the side.

“The card,” she said, waving it in front of his face. “Unseen forces are at work.”

M.T. took the card from her hesitantly, waiting for her to protest. When she did not, he offered her a small smile, and peered at the card again.

“I use them to tell the future,” said Rois with a slight smile.

M.T. ran his thumb across the picture of the moon. He looked at her with raised eyebrows and she laughed slightly.

“They’re not _magical_ , if that’s what you’re thinking,” Rois said. “No, some believe they’re divine, but… I simply read them and interpret them for the asker.”

M.T. nodded his understanding enthusiastically. He took one last look at the card before huffing out a sigh and passing it to her, looking almost disappointed to see it go.

“I can do a reading for you sometime, if you want,” said the halfling. “Or I could actually _teach_ you if that’s what you want.”

M.T. grinned, his tail lashing excitedly behind him. Rois laughed. The sound was musical to M.T.’s ears and it made him happier. He wanted to hear it _more_.

What would make her happy? What would make it so that M.T. could hear that sound again?

“Yes,” said M.T., his voice still rough and scratchy.

Rois looked at him in surprise, a deep grin spreading across her face. Her expression made M.T. feel warm in a way that chased away the emptiness inside.


	3. Crownsguard

After speaking to Rois for the first time, M.T. had to slowly work up to speaking more and more. At first, he had only been able to speak in simple, clipped, one word sentences, but as time passed he was able to speak more and more. Of the people in the circus, he spent a lot of time with Toya.

The dwarven girl was shy and quiet, but even when he was _completely_ nonverbal, he still managed to find ways to make her smile. She had a very special smile that she reserved just for him; it was usually one of exasperation, but it was a smile nonetheless.

They had set up camp on the side of the road. After pitching the tents in which they all slept, Orna built a fire and Bo started to cook the food. M.T. lounged on the ground lazily nearby, his legs crossed and his arms folded behind his head. Toya was sitting next to him on Kylre’s legs, humming quietly. The sky above had transformed into a dazzling orange and yellow as the sun went down.

“Hear any good jokes lately?” M.T. asked Toya with a slight smile.

“None I haven’t already told you,” Toya said quietly in her scratchy voice.

“That’s a shame,” said M.T., still smiling.

“Maybe we will go to town soon and I will hear more to share with you,” offered Toya.

M.T. flipped over onto his stomach, resting his elbows on the ground and his chin on the heels of his hands. He looked at her seriously and said, “There’s nothing I’d like more.”

Toya gave him a quick, shy smile. M.T.’s grin widened.

“Alright, you three,” said Orna, walking over to them from the fire to offer them each a roasted sausage. “Hungry?”

“Starved,” M.T. replied brightly, sitting up and taking the food from her gratefully.

Toya got up from Kylre’s lap, taking one sausage for her and one for her companion, thanking Orna quietly. She returned to Kylre, passing one of the sausages to him before sitting back down with him.

“Excuse me!”

M.T. looked around. There was a small group of people approaching their campsite, perhaps four in total. They were all wearing vermilion or maroon robes, bronze scale mail breast and arm plates, shields, greaves, and a helmet each. M.T.’s eyes were drawn to the crossbows strapped to their backs and basic longswords sheathed at their sides, which their hands were resting on, ready to draw at a moment’s notice. They all seemed to be human, and their eyes swept over their campsite, lingering on M.T. and Kylre suspiciously.

M.T., however, swept to his feet to greet the approaching men and women with a smile. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Toya flinch back into Kylre’s arms. Bo stayed close to the fire while Orna walked over to the people in the strange uniforms.

“Can I help you?” she asked, putting her hands on her hips.

“What is… this?” the man in front said, his eyes narrowed with suspicion as he gestured vaguely at their little set up.

“This is our camp,” said M.T. pleasantly.

“Your camp,” echoed the man doubtfully. “Do you belong to… a group of some sort?”

“We are part of the Fletching and Moondrop Traveling Carnival of Curiosities,” Orna said. “Why are there Crownsguard way out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“Why are you here in the middle of nowhere?” one of the women among the group demanded.

“Well, she just said; we’re the carnival. We’re traveling,” M.T. said, rolling his eyes. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Mona and Yuli poke their heads out of Rois’s tent, exchange a glance, before retreating.

“Do you have any papers to prove it?” the man in front of the group asked. “You see, there’s been a problem with bandits in the area…”

Orna frowned. “We haven’t seen any bandits.”

“How fortunate,” said the apparent leader of the group dryly. What had Orna called them? Crownsguard? Were they some sort of organization?

“Bo, would you mind getting Gustav and Desmond?” M.T. called over to the half orc. “They’ll be able to straighten this out.”

“Sure thing,” said Bo lazily. He stood up from where he was sitting by the fire and headed over to Gustav’s tent.

“Have them bring our papers!” Orna called.

Bo indicated that he heard her with a lazy flick of his hand backwards. M.T. and Orna turned back towards the Crownsguard. One of them broke away from the group and began to move around the campsite, gently lifting the flaps of the sleeping tents to peer inside, supposedly looking for people. Orna bristled slightly at the lack of respect for privacy, but she said nothing. M.T. put one of his hands on her shoulder and gave her a light squeeze. The leader of the group peered at the both of them while the others who weren’t looking into the tents watched Kylre suspiciously.

“And who are you two?” the leader asked.

“My name’s Orna,” she said. “I perform in the circus.”

“I’m M.T.”

“‘M.T.’ Is that short for something?” The Crownsguard’s eyes were narrowed with suspicion.

“Probably,” said M.T. with a shrug, smirking at them.

“Now’s not the time for cheek, _devil_ ,” sneered the female Crownsguard. “Answer Watchmaster Petrus’s question.”

“M.T. is short for…” He picked the first words that started with ‘M’ and ‘T’ that he thought of for a name that did not already belong to someone of the circus. “Mollymawk Tealeaf.”

One of the Crownsguard, though he could not tell which one, snorted with disbelief while Watchmaster Petrus said, “Tealeaf, huh? You don’t look like a halfling.”

Was Tealeaf a halfling surname? M.T. had no idea. He had never heard Mona, Yuli, or Rois mention a last name before so he sort of just assumed halflings didn’t have last names. Most of the people in the circus did not have surnames.

“Well, I was adopted by halflings, actually,” he lied easily.

Watchmaster Petrus peered at M.T. with narrow eyes. M.T. smiled at him again.

“And what’s that thing?” another Crownsguard asked, pointing at Kylre, who was still holding Toya protectively.

“That’s Kylre,” Orna said, “he’s part of our circus.”

“And the little girl?”

“Toya.”

Bo emerged from the tent, followed closely behind with Desmond and Gustav, the latter of whom was holding a stack of papers. The trio made their way over towards the intruders.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen,” said Gustav with a grin. “And ladies,” he added with a wink to the female Crownsguard. “I have all of the identification papers for you right here.”

Watchmaster Petrus took the papers from Gustav lazily. He began to thumb through lazily, reading each of the names of the people in the circus. Desmond stood silently next to Gustav, arms folded behind him, his eyes tracing warily over the Crownsguard. M.T. watched the whole display with his eyebrows raised, rocking back and forth slightly on his heels and lashing his tail for no reason other than he often found he couldn’t quite keep still. Bo headed back to tend to the fire.

After a few moments of the Watchmaster reading the identification papers, the Crownsguard who was peeking into the tents rejoined the group, quietly informing the Watchmaster that there were only three halfling women in one of the tents.

“This all seems to be in order,” said Watchmaster Petrus, “except I do not see anyone in here by the name of Mollymawk Tealeaf.”

“Mollymawk?” Gustav asked, his smile fading slightly.

M.T. stepped forward. “Now that can’t be,” he said with a frown. “I _must_ be in there somewhere. I’ve been with the circus my whole life.”

“Perhaps there was a mistake with the files,” said Desmond, catching on quickly.

“Of course,” said Gustav, shaking his head and smiling at the Crownsguard again. “How silly. We travel around a lot so my files are bound to be a little jumbled sometimes. I’ll find his papers; it won’t take but a moment.”

Gustav headed back towards his tent. Watchmaster Petrus shook his head and mumbled something in a language that M.T. could not understand. M.T. opened his mouth to try to talk to the group of Crownsguard and ask what exactly they were, but Orna shot him a warning glance and the words died in his throat. They waited in silence for several minutes until Gustav returned with another piece of paper.

“Here you are,” said Gustav brightly. “I apologize for any inconvenience.”

Watchmaster Petrus took the paper, read it, and nodded. “Very well.”

He handed the stack of papers back to Gustav, who immediately passed them to Desmond. Gustav bowed low. “Sorry for any… confusion.”

“As you were,” said Watchmaster Petrus lazily. He turned and lead the group away. M.T. watched them leave with a frown.

Orna waited until they were out of earshot before snatching the document on top of the stack away from Desmond. Her eyes flicked back and forth across the page before she looked back up at Gustav, frowning. “You misspelled ‘Mollymawk.’ It’s with a ‘w,’ not a ‘u.’”

“I had to kind of improvise,” said Gustav with a shrug. “It’s not like I had very much time to _properly_ forge a document, did I?”

“Can I see?” M.T. asked.

Orna shrugged and passed the page over to him. M.T. knew he wasn’t very good at reading, but he was able to see the name “Mollymauk Tealeaf” written at the top of the page. All in all, it was a very good forgery, in M.T.’s opinion, given how little time Gustav had.

“Works for me,” said M.T. with a shrug.

“Well, if you decide you want to be called something else, let me know ahead of time and I’ll be able to create some proper documents for you,” Gustav said, scratching his chin. “We’re lucky that these Crownsguard apparently couldn’t see through the—“

“Obvious misspellings?” Orna quipped.

“No, this is fine,” said M.T., looking back at the paper again. “I kind of like it, to be honest. Has a nice ring to it and the misspelling makes it… um, what’s the word? Unique?”

“You know that it doesn’t sound like a real name, right?” Orna asked.

M.T. shrugged. “Do I look like the sort of person who cares about that sort of thing?”

Orna put her hands on her hips, pursing her lips, and looked up at him with raised eyebrows but said nothing.

“Well, in that case… would you prefer to be called M.T. or Mollymauk, then?” Gustav asked.

He thought for a moment, tail lashing as he scratched his chin. “The latter, I think. Or Molly, I guess, if it’s all the same to you. For short. Does _that_ sound like a real enough name for you, Orna?” he added, turning towards her with a teasing expression. Orna rolled her eyes but she was smiling.

“Molly it is, then,” said Desmond. “If I can have that back, I can put these away _properly_ now.”

Molly replaced the forgery on the top of the stack and Desmond headed back to the tent without another word.

“The Crownsguard said something about bandits,” said Orna, turning towards Gustav.

“Yeah, Bo said as much,” Gustav said with a frown. Upon hearing his name, the half orc looked up from the fire and watched them, listening in on their conversation.

“Perhaps we can have people keep watch over night? Just in case?” Orna suggested.

Gustav raised his eyebrows at her. “We don’t have many fighters in our little troupe besides Bo and he can’t very well stay up all night every night until we leave the Zemni Fields. Kylre won’t leave Toya alone and I don’t feel comfortable with letting a ten year old stay up to keep watch for bandits.”

“So what should we do, then? I feel like we should have a plan other than just ‘go fast,’” said Orna pointedly.

“If it will make you feel better we can hire extra security in the next town we pass through,” Gustav said thoughtfully.

“I could help keep watch,” Molly offered at the same time.

Orna looked towards him with a frown. Gustav, however, raised his eyebrows at him and asked, “Can you fight?”

“I have no idea,” said Molly, smirking. “Won’t it be interesting to find out.”

“We can’t just put an unarmed one month old out and expect him to defend us from bandits,” Orna said.

“Well, I’m not _exactly_ a month old,” said Molly, folding his arms over his chest. “It’s not like I’m a baby. There’s more to my life that I just can’t remember. For all any of us know I could be a _fantastic_ fighter.”

Orna and Gustav regarded him skeptically, so he continued, “Besides, all you guys _really_ need me to do scream my head off if I see anyone unfamiliar. Bo and I can each take half a shift and then sleep it off in the cart tomorrow. If you’re okay with that,” Molly added, calling over to him. The half orc gives him a thumbs up.

“Well, at the very least you should be armed,” Orna said. “Maybe Bo has something…?”

“I have a chest of prop weapons,” said Gustav, beckoning Molly towards his tent. “They’ll work in the short term, at least. Why don’t you take a look and see if any of them catch your eye?”


	4. Storm

They saw no hide nor hair of bandits for the next two days. Bo and Molly each stayed up half the night to keep an eye out for any potential danger, sleeping it off the next day.

Molly was consistently bored out of his mind while he kept watch. The first night he mostly spent it inspecting the two scimitars that had been in Gustav’s prop chest. Gustav had explained that they once had a sword juggler in the circus, but he retired after losing one of his arms. They weren’t _terribly_ sharp, but Molly supposed that they could be used to defend himself if came down to it.

Really, if Molly was honest with himself, it wasn’t the potential for self defense that made him choose the scimitars over the throwing knives, clubs, and other basic weapons in the chest; it was how pretty they looked. They were shiny and were made of a material that Gustav called carnival glass. The surface color was a soft, bluish silver, but Molly could not help but notice that it had a rainbow iridescence to them. As such, he spent much of the first night, holding up the swords and examining the way the light of the moons made them look.

The second night the clouds overhead were much thicker, so Molly was unable to watch the way the light refract on the blades. Instead, he found himself pondering Gustav’s words about the sword juggler. He looked around at the tents in which everyone was sleeping to make sure that he was not being watched before, from his position from where he was sitting on the cart, he started to experimentally try to juggle the swords.

He failed miserably, of course, and ended up accidentally cutting his left wrist. Molly swore softly, reflexively dropping the left sword to the grass next to the cart. Blood dripped lazily from the wound but that was not what caught Molly’s eye; ice shards had gathered on the surface of the right blade. Molly stared at it, uncomprehending, as Gustav had not mentioned anything about the blades being enchanted. On the other hand, the wound did not feel cold as he would have expected it to if the blade had some sort of ice enchantment on it.

Molly dropped the other sword. It landed next to the first sword on the ground with a dull _thunk_. As he watched, the ice melted away from the blade as if it was never there; there wasn’t even a trickle of water, it was as if the ice had just disappeared completely. Molly pressed his hand to the wound, his eyes sweeping around the campsite to see if anyone had woken up. There was no movement save for the stirring of the grass and the tent flaps waving lazily in the soft breeze.

He dug around the extra supplies they kept in the carts, swiftly locating a small medicine kit. He wrapped the bandages around his hand before picking up the swords off of the ground. Molly, it seemed, could twirl them around in his hands just fine, as if he had been doing so his entire life, but it seemed that juggling would take a little more practice.

Toya had asked Molly about the bandages on his hand and he had wryly told her of his mishap. Gustav, who had been sitting nearby, laughed uproariously; Molly did the same, not feeling in the slightest embarrassed.

Gustav got to his feet, clapped Molly on the back, and said, “You can’t just learn to juggle swords in one night.”

“Well, _obviously_ ,” Molly said, smirking as he waved his bandaged hand.

“If you want, I can teach you,” said Gustav. “You seem to have good reflexes, as you’re a beginner that managed not to lose his hand when trying to juggle blades for the first time unsupervised. With practice… Who knows, maybe you’ll actually be good at it. We can get you some swords that perhaps aren’t as sharp to use while you’re still learning.”

“Maybe some that aren’t enchanted, too,” mused Molly.

Gustav blinked and looked at him sideways. “What?”

“Those swords are enchanted,” Molly said. “Or at least the one I cut myself on is.”

“That can’t be,” Gustav said amiably. “Those swords are a cheap carnival glass that we bought from a second hand shop in Zadash. They wouldn’t be enchanted.”

“When I cut myself on it this morning there was ice on the blade,” said Molly. “How else could that have happened?”

Gustav shrugged. “I’ll tell you what; if you really want, I can have someone take a look at them when we get to town… In addition to hiring security, of course. In the meantime, keep an eye on it and… try to avoid cutting yourself?”

“I’ll do my best,” Molly said cheerfully, shrugging.

\-----

Molly spent much of his day messing with his new swords, testing the weight, balance, and reach of them while sitting in the back of the cart. Overhead, the sky was pregnant with the threat of storms. When awake, Molly could see the rain in the distance, but it didn’t reach them until that evening. Everyone tried to stay out of the rain as much as possible.

When Bosun came to wake Molly for his watch, the half orc looked like he had gotten into a fight with a lake and lost. He seemed all too eager to get into his tent and Molly did not blame him in the slightest.

Molly trudged out into the rain, his boots making squelching sounds in the mud. He dug around in the cart, managing to find a scrap of burlap which he held over his head. It didn’t provide much protection from the rain and he ended up tossing it aside after a few minutes. He sat in the cart, bringing his knees to chest and wrapping his tail around his ankles to try to conserve heat, suddenly wishing desperately that he had a coat of some kind. His hair was plastered to his face, although as it was not very long it didn’t get in the way.

Lightning flashed and movement caught his eye. He looked up and squinted through the darkness and the rain; he _swore_ he could see someone moving around out there. Molly scrambled to his feet and vaulted over the side of the cart. He drew the scimitars and started to cautiously approach where he saw the movement. He did not call out, knowing that if whatever moved was a part of their circus, they would have called out to him first.

A crossbow bolt sprouted from Molly’s left shoulder. He grunted with pain and dodged out of the way as a sword sliced through where he had been standing moments before. Acting on instinct alone, he drew one of his scimitars across his neck; just as before, the blood gleamed on the blade for a moment before it went clear and turned to ice.

Molly whipped around and slashed with his scimitar towards the man who had just swung his longsword at him. The man had a cloth tied around his face to cover his mouth, neck, and nose, although Molly could tell that he was human. He wore scraps of leather armor that did not match and looked as if they had been pieced together from stolen sets over the years. Molly’s scimitar sliced through the man’s shoulder, the rain landing next to the wound freezing as it makes contact with his blade. The bandit releases a strangled cry but does not fall.

Another crossbow bolt landed in the mud near Molly’s feet with a dull, wet _thock_ , but he paid it no mind. The man swung his longsword at the tiefling again, managing to score a line on his arm. Molly grimaced and sliced the man through his neck. His eyes widened in surprise for a moment, his free hand coming partially up to the crimson stain slowly spreading across the cloth covering his face before the man collapsed to the ground, bleeding out.

_BOOM._

Lightning flashed again. Not too far away, Molly could see a man with a crossbow taking aim at him again. He could also see two more people, searching their camp for valuables out in the open that they could take. Molly gritted his teeth, choosing to ignore the man shooting his crossbow at him, bolting towards the other two, who were in the process of trying to lift a chest off of the back of one of the carts.

Molly drew his other blade over his neck and ice formed on that one as well. He focused on the one actually standing on the cart to try to pass the chest over, threatening to murder her in a language that he had not heard any of the others speak in that he did not know that he knew. The woman flinched and dropped the chest on the other bandit, who caught it unsteadily with an _oof!_

Another crossbow bolt pierced Molly’s side, just below the ribs. He ran towards the bandits with his swords aglow with ice magic. The woman on the cart drew a sword of her own and jumped off.

“Go! Get the loot away!” she shouted at her companion before running to meet Molly.

The man started sprinting in another direction with the chest; he wasn’t quite certain what was inside of it in the first place, and it likely wasn’t _that_ important if it had been left outside of the tents, but Molly would be _damned_ if he would let them have it.

From behind him, Molly could hear a surprised yelp and a grunt of pain as he brought one of his scimitars down towards the woman’s head. It landed against her own blade with a clang. She stabbed out at him, but Molly easily danced out of the way. He skirted around her to try to get an opening but she perried his blow again. Molly grimaced, holding his blades up in a position where he would be able to readily block.

The woman sneered. “What’s the matter, tiefling? Lost your nerve?”

She feints with her blade and with her free hand, the woman’s fist found Molly’s stomach. He grunted and used the force of the blow to propel him backwards a step or two, putting more distance between the two of them and giving Molly enough time to make sure that his swords are up. Molly lashes out with his left sword, striking the woman just below the ribs.

It is not a fatal blow, but even in the darkness Molly can see all the blood drain from her face and her eyes go wide with fear. She tries to stab at him. Her terror made her attempt sloppy, however, and she missed entirely. Molly thrust one of his scimitars into her ribcage, making the light fade from her eyes at once.

_BOOM._

Lightning flashed again. He wrenched his blade from her corpse and whipped around, ready to run after the one that was carrying the chest. Molly’s red eyes drifted over towards where the bandit with the crossbow had been, only to find him in an unmoving heap in the grass. He didn’t really have time to ponder this, however, before he managed to locate the one that had stolen the chest again.

There was another figure looming over him. It was much too far away and rainy for Molly to make out details. He sprinted towards them, but before he could do anything, the larger figure shifted; it looked like they were swinging something towards the thief. He dropped the chest to the ground and collapsed; by this point, Molly was close enough to hear the man’s dying gurgle.

He angled his blades apprehensively at the larger figure as he approached, not quite certain if she was a friend or foe. Clutched in her hands was an enormous sword which swung towards Molly in turn. She was quite tall, her arms muscular and her shoulders broad. She also seemed to have some form of heterochromia, although it was difficult to tell in the dark; when it was dark, Molly found that his vision was mostly in shades of gray.

The woman watched him for a moment before she sighed and put away her sword. She looked at him up and down before kneeling to pick up the chest.

“I believe this is yours?”

**Author's Note:**

> For the first couple of chapters, Molly doesn't know who he is yet, thus the frazzled thoughts and behavior. I'm estimating by chapter three his identity will be more solidified so the way it is written now will not be necessarily how it is written later on.


End file.
